Joan Kilby - A Mom for Christmas

“Stew again,” Emily complained with a quiet sigh. “Nicola said she was going to make spaghetti for their dinner.”

“We had spaghetti last week,” he reminded her.

“Yes, but not like Nicola’s.”

“What is Nicola’s spaghetti like?” he asked patiently.

“I don’t know. It’s just different.”

“Eat up, sweetheart, or we’ll end up having stew tomorrow, too.”

Emily sighed and went back to her meal. Aidan’s thoughts went back to revolving around his dilemma. Should he apply for the assistant manager’s position or should he let it go? He wanted the job, rather badly, he realized, for the recognition of his expertise and experience. Also it would give him a chance to implement his ideas for improving conditions for the patrollers and safety for skiers. Last but not least, he could use the extra money the promotion would bring.

He leaned over and twitched back the lace curtains, another legacy of Charmaine, to reveal the snow-covered expanse of Alta Lake visible under a rising moon. The neighborhood children had cleared a makeshift skating rink complete with two battered, netless goals. Sometimes he wished he was a kid again, with nothing more on his mind than looking forward to playing hockey after school.

“Can I, Daddy? Nicola told me I should ask you,” Emily said in her soft voice.

“Sure, honey,” Aidan replied automatically then realized guiltily he’d been so lost in thought he didn’t know what she’d said.

Before he could find out what he’d just agreed to there was a knock at the door. A second later it opened and his brother Nate called out. “Anybody home?”

“In the dining room,” Aidan said. “Grab a plate from the kitchen.”

Nate, his dark hair tousled from pushing the hood of his heavy parka off his forehead, appeared in the doorway. “Can’t stay. Angela and I just got back from Vancouver and I wanted to drop off the book on tropical fish you ordered.” He tugged on one of Emily’s blond braids. “How’s my girl?”

Emily dimpled up at him. “Fine, thank you, Unca Nate.”

“How’s the new store doing?” Aidan asked. Nate’s Whistler Village mountain-bike shop had proven such a success that he’d recently expanded his business with a second store in Vancouver. Due to Angela’s job as marketing director at a businesswoman’s magazine, they spent a few days a month in the city, staying at an apartment Angela had before she and Nate got back together.

“Turnover is brisk thanks to a great location and Rachel’s proving to be an excellent manager.” Nate started to leave then paused. “Almost forgot. Angela wanted me to ask you and Emily for dinner tomorrow.”

“I don’t know about a late night for Emily,” Aidan began.

“It’s Friday and Emily can always go to sleep in our bed if she gets tired. I’ve got to warn you, though, Angela’s trying out a new recipe.”

“Uh-oh.” Aidan knew all about Angela’s disastrous cooking attempts and considered his health-food-conscious brother not only brave but lucky to have survived so far unscathed. The problem in Aidan’s opinion was that Angela was too ambitious, cooking complicated dishes while lacking basic skills.

“She’s getting better, honest,” Nate said, grinning. Outside, a horn tooted. “She ran into Nicola at the school and invited her, too. So will you come?”

The prospect of meeting Nicola there tipped the scales. If she got to know him in the context of his family and friends she’d see he wasn’t the bad person June had no doubt painted him. Maybe he shouldn’t care what Nicola thought, but he did.

“All right,” Aidan said. “Thanks.”

In bed that night Nicola reread Charmaine’s letters from start to finish, looking for any evidence, no matter how slight, that despite June’s assurances to the contrary, her cousin might have been tempted to take her own life. The notion was far-fetched but not completely implausible. If Aidan had witnessed his wife’s suicide that might be what he was covering up. But Nicola could find nothing to suggest Charmaine had contemplated such a thing for even one second. Nicola sighed and put the letters away.

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